


Snow-Globe

by sallysorrell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Character Study, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 01:49:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallysorrell/pseuds/sallysorrell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft, sitting alone as usual, considers his fears and strengths.  These overlap more than he likes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow-Globe

Mycroft Holmes, contrary to a widely-held yet silent belief, was not defined by his umbrella. He was not _common_ and he was not – as the diet convinced him – _tall_ or _thin_. He was not imprisoned by a single clasp, either; his reach was limitless while his energy was not. One evening, sitting in his private room at the Diogenes club and sipping his brandy, he determined he was most like the snow-globe that stared back at him from Anthea's desk.

Mycroft Holmes was certainly _contained_ , but not by walls. He could see the _entire_ world around him, through the safety of the glass. Things magnified as they passed him, bidding for his attention.

Mycroft Holmes certainly _collected dust_. He leaned back in his chair and brushed his fingertips against each other. Most days, he would not move, except from one chair to another. He would gaze out the window, trying to entertain himself by examining anyone lucky enough to pass by.

Mycroft Holmes was certainly _valuable_. All of the pieces of his empire were delicately handmade, and vital to even trivial operations. His gears and mechanisms were clean and well-hidden. Everything was precise, and his brand of focus demanded attention, respect, and – of course – money.

Mycroft Holmes was certainly _breakable_. Luckily, the desk was carefully used; leaned on, mostly. He had never fallen, but _knew_ a mess would result if he did. It would take many people to clean it up properly. Even this thought made Mycroft impatient; his lips twitched. He slumped back in his chair, crossed his legs, and held his head in both hands. He recalled one particularly bitter Christmas day:

_Sherlock sat across from him on the floor, staring at the premature wrinkles on his face and lines in his eyes. Mycroft shrugged but did not apologise._

_They were seated before a dead fireplace, as Mycroft could not afford to keep it lit, listening to their Mum. She was alone in the kitchen, crumpled up in the corner, and sobbing._

_"No, Sherlock," Mycroft said, when the boy's eyes quivered, and he threatened to stand up, "You'll only make it worse."_

What Mycroft Holmes feared, more than anything else, was being picked up irresponsibly, and _shaken_. He would never be a toy, no matter how often wide-eyed children stared at him.

_Mycroft rolled his eyes and opened Sherlock's presents for him. He did everything else for him, anyway._

_In the second and final box was a snow-globe, magnificently carved and impossibly shiny. Mycroft placed it on the most appreciated item in the house: the bookshelf._

_Sherlock, always his baby brother, stood on a chair to reach the snow-globe. He dismissed trivialities, such as the type of paint and country of origin, and focused on counting the flecks of false snow as they settled. He was too clever to turn it over; he merely raised it above his head to study the label and inscription. Always something sentimental:_

_"To Sherlock, From Father. Happy Christmas."_

_The boy cringed, feverishly scratching off the words. His fingertips nearly bled before Mycroft dared to stop him. Sharply, he grabbed his brother's shoulder, and stabbed the ground with his umbrella._

_"No!" called Sherlock. He ran to the kitchen, to his mother's side, and refused to move until she was quiet._

Mycroft glared at the globe and slammed down his glass.

There was one person who could pick him up and threaten him, shake him until he was dizzy, and blind him beyond repair:

Always his baby brother.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Your thoughts are appreciated :)  
> If you enjoyed this, I hope you'll check out my other Sherlock works, here or on fanfiction (I use the same pen-name.)  
> Thanks again!


End file.
